A/N: Short chapter... if you're thinking 'does this girl do anything but write fic?!' then the answer is: no, I really don't. I wanted to write a bit of a fluffier, happier chapter before we go dark again, so here it is. Thank you again for all your lovely reviews – they really mean the world to me.
Lorna doesn't phone Nicky. She couldn't even if she wanted to because her phone's somewhere under Nicky's bed, buried under pizza boxes and dirty underwear, and she's lost the scrap of paper with her number on it. She decides it's probably for the best; she needs a few days to figure herself out, work out what she's going to do, get back on her feet. After her initial breakdown, she's been better, she thinks. Waking up in a bed that isn't stiff and unmade, and doesn't consist of nothing more than a thin blanket, is a mind-fuck every morning, but it's taking less and less time for her to work out where she is. She scribbles down a day to day schedule for herself and tapes it to her mirror, hoping that that will sort her head out a bit, but she knows her family won't appreciate her timing their mealtimes, so she'll have to get used to eating alone. She schedules showers, meals, 'recreation time' (reading, television, listening to music; all things that feel wrong being done alone, but she has to get used to loneliness), and an hour every day for her to leave the house in. She doesn't want to wind up afraid of going outside. She starts off slow, walking to the end of the street, to a magazine stand one afternoon, going two blocks over to a convenience store the next. It's a lonely little world she's created for herself, but she's no longer drowning in her own thoughts, so it's progress.
During the day, it's quiet in the Morello house, for possibly the first time in Lorna's life. Her dad's at work. Franny's at work. The kids are at school. Her brothers moved out when their mother passed. It's just Lorna, but that's okay. She thinks she needs the quiet.
On the sixth day, she opens her front door to find Nicky standing outside, wearing a tight black dress, Doc Martens, and a leather jacket. Her hair's tamer than usual (she's having to actually keep it somewhat neat for work), but she has that same lop-sided smirk on her face, the one that Lorna fell in love with months ago, and her eyes are bright, and Lorna can't help but smile at the sight of her.
"Comin' out to play, kid?" she asks, leaning against the front door frame.
It's not the scheduled time for going out, but she thinks 'to heck with the list' and lets Nicky in whilst she goes to change into something that isn't pyjamas. She opts for skinny jeans and a black tank-top, scoops her hair up into a neat ponytail, applies her trademark red lipstick, and feels more like herself than she has in days.
"Where we goin'?" she asks as she saunters into the living room where Nicky's watching television, Franny's kid's cat curled up in her lap.
"Somewhere this thing isn't," she says, poking her thumb in the direction of the feline, but Lorna can tell from the glint in her eyes that she's secretly enjoying the attention, "I was thinking the park? Grab some slices, a beer, get some fresh air."
"The park? You don't seem the feeding the ducks kind Nichols. And besides, you're not meant to be drinking, are you?"
Nicky rolls her eyes, "what are you, my mother? I'll have you know, I'm fucking great at feeding ducks. I love that shit."
Lorna laughs as Nicky tries (and fails) to shoo Gingersnap off her lap ('this thing must have misunderstood me when I said I love pussy') and once the cat is angrily glaring at them from an otherwise-empty couch, they head out. Lorna finds herself automatically slipping her hand into Nicky's, and they walk like that the whole way to the park, like it's second nature.
They wind up getting ice-cream and sitting by the duck pond, though they have no bread to throw. Nicky's shrugs off her jacket, and once Lorna's finished eating, she lies down, her head in Nicky's lap, watching the ducks splash about. Being in the park feels good, feels normal. The surroundings are completely different, but if she closes her eyes, the noise reminds her of home. Of Litchfield.
"Remember Red and the chicken?" Nicky says, after a moment of easy silence, and they both laugh, recalling just one of many ridiculous prison hijinks. It feels comforting to look back on it and be able to laugh, but Lorna's chest suddenly feels heavy with how much she misses everyone at Litchfield. It's strange; she spent the last few months desperate to get out, to get back to Nicky, but now that she's outside, she wishes more than anything that she was still in there.
"I can't believe Chapman's friend didn't talk to her for like a week over that stupid chicken," she joins in, looking up at Nicky and smiling broadly. She sees the same look in Nicky's eyes that she's sure is shining in hers; nostalgia, wistfulness. Wishing for something they both know they shouldn't wish for.
"She lost a fucking business deal over that chicken," Nicky says, but her voice is soft, like maybe it isn't a joke anymore, like her heart isn't in it anymore.
Lorna's smile fades, "how is she? Chapman, I mean?"
The slight change in subject is obviously welcomed as Nicky's expression softens, "yeah, she's good. Eager to see you for some reason. I told her you're not really worth it, but you know how she is."
Elbowing Nicky in the knee, Lorna laughs, but can't help but feel a little pang of worry at the thought of spending time with someone who isn't Nicky. Of course she wants to see Piper, feels guilty that she hasn't so much as spoken to her since she got out, but at the same time, she can't help but feel weird about it. Nicky's been seeing her once or twice a week, for months. Lorna can't help but wonder what she's shared with her, how much Piper knows.
"Hey, we don't have to rush into it, she understands," Nicky tells her, as if she might have been reading her mind. She tangles her fingers in Lorna's hair, and Lorna closes her eyes, relaxing into Nicky's touch. She's peaceful for a moment, but then she's reminded of the last time they were this close, and it makes her want to vomit.
"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up and meeting Nicky's eyes, "about the other day, I mean. That wasn't fair on you, I'm not worth-"
Nicky silences her with a soft kiss and it takes Lorna by surprise, but she sinks into it, lets herself get wrapped up in Nicky, in the way she feels against her skin, the way she tastes, smells. She knows Nicky doesn't like to talk, would prefer to solve their problems this way, and that's okay, Lorna realises. Maybe not talking about it is better. Maybe this way they can move forward, pretend like it didn't happen.
"I don't have a bad word to say about you, Lorna Morello," Nicky says when she pulls back, her hands still cupping Lorna's face, brushing her thumbs over the soft skin of her cheekbones, "please remember that when you're feeling like you haven't got any worth on this shit-hole planet. You're worth something to me. A lot, actually."
She wants to say 'I love you', but she knows Nicky's not there yet, and she doesn't want to keep pushing it, keep making her uncomfortable. As many problems as Lorna has, she knows Nicky herself isn't exactly baggage-free. She doesn't ask about that though, not because she doesn't care, but because Nicky's never been particularly open about the drugs, not with Lorna at least, and it must be exhausting enough dealing with her, let alone having to open up about that too. She hopes, one day, soon preferably, she'll be stable enough that she'll be able to flip this thing around, that she'll be able to take care of Nicky. But then she's not exactly sure Nicky would ever let her.
Instead, she resorts to a language she knows Nicky will understand, paints a devious smile onto her face, and leans into her, kissing her jaw and whispering, "hey, how comes I've been out here for almost a week and we haven't fucked yet?"
A smirk grows on Nicky's face, and she's on her feet before Lorna can say "your place, or mine?", which kinda goes without saying because there's no chance in hell she's risking her dad walking in on them at home, and they're at Nicky's apartment, undressed, with her pinned against a wall, within twenty minutes.
6pm is dinner time, Lorna thinks to herself, quietly, as she stares at the clock by Nicky's bedside. She can't help it. The structure she's built herself is her safety blanket, and she can feel it slipping from her grip as the day drifts more and more from what she's scheduled. Nicky's sitting on the window ledge, smoking out of the window, and Lorna knows that just having her here should be enough, that the timetable shouldn't matter.
But, it does.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabs a t-shirt from Nicky's floor and slips it over her head, drags her underwear up her legs, and positions herself in the doorway.
"You alright if I make dinner?"
Nicky casts her a look over her shoulder, and she looks beautiful with her hair all ruffled up, wearing a pyjama shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone, a familiar smirk tugging at her lips, "sure, if you can find some."
Heading down to the kitchen, Lorna gets what Nicky means as soon as she opens the refrigerator. A bottle of milk clangs about alone in the door, and the fridge itself is home to a mouldy slice of pizza, a half-eaten can of mac'n'cheese, a yoghurt, and two cans of coke. The freezer is just as disappointing. Lorna grabs the yoghurt, inspects the fruit bowl for a banana that isn't too brown, and sits herself down at the table. It's not exactly a feast, but she lived off prison food for nearly three years, so she can deal.
She's just finishing up the yoghurt when Nicky appears.
"We should go grab a hotdog," she says, running a hand through her hair.
"Uh, no, it's okay, I just ate-"
"Morello, you think I'd hear the end of this if Red knew I was feedin' you that shit? No way. Come on, get dressed, I know this great little place."
After what Lorna can only describe as a mediocre hotdog ('hey, I never said the food was great, but look at this place!'), they go for a walk around the city, and, a while later, Nicky drops Lorna home. She shouldn't be surprised when she's greeted by Franny looking about ready to kill her, but she sort-a, kind-a is. She waves Nicky goodbye, and prepares herself to argue (she may as well have scheduled that into her timetable, too), but Franny doesn't say anything, just closes the door and heads back to the kitchen.
Pops is watching TV with the kids in the living room, and the volume is up too high, the boys shouting over it, Lorna's father telling them to shut up, and Lorna immediately heads through to the kitchen, deciding she'd rather face her sister's wrath than sit through another sports argument. Franny's leaning against the counter, eyes closed, looking like she might break down any moment.
"Franny?" Lorna says quietly, feeling a pang of guilt in her chest, "everythin' alright?"
She's startled by the voice and turns, a not-quite-convincing-enough smile plastered on her face. Lorna's seen that smile before, not just on her sister's face, but her own. She knows it well enough to mean nothing good is going to come from this conversation.
"Nothin' for you to worry yourself about Lorna," she says quietly, squeezing her sister's shoulder, "you have a nice day out with Nicky?"
Lorna wants to gush over the day they had, the things they got up to, the conversations; everything, but it feels too familiar, and she wants to distance herself from the Lorna who lived here before Litchfield, so she doesn't. She smiles, nods, doesn't go into detail.
"I'm glad you have her. I mean that. It's difficult for us all to understand, y'know, and it might take us a while to... but I'm glad she's there. You really do seem better, Lorn."
They hug, and it's only slightly awkward, but when Lorna's back in her room, tearing the schedule off her mirror and stuffing it into the bin, she realises she still doesn't know what's wrong with her sister. She's always so wrapped up in her own problems, she has no idea what's going on with Franny, with the kids... with any of them.
Having retrieved her phone from Nicky's bedroom floor, she sends her a text goodnight and climbs into her bed, feeling like a rebel because it's 10:24 and bed is (was?) scheduled for 10. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she's out, and tomorrow's a new day.